


The Pledge

by richmahogany



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Harold is a BAMF by proxy, Love, M/M, Supernatural Elements, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: When reclusive billionaire Harold Finch finds former CIA operative John Reese at his door, it is the beginning of a wonderful partnership – and more. When John has to leave, he promises Harold to be back soon. When he is taken captive by his enemies, there is only one way for him to keep that promise.





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> A POI flavored retelling of the Japanese ghost story “The Chrysanthemum Pledge”, from the collection “Ugetsu Monogatari” (Tales of Rain and Moon) by Ueda Akinari, first published in 1776. The original story (itself based on a Chinese story) is about a samurai and a scholar “who loved only books” – you can see how this would give me ideas. AU in which the Machine does not exist, but they still do what they do – sort of. This is my magnum opus – I spent years writing this, on and off.  
> Rated T – I don’t think it warrants any more. There is one mention of rape, but it is not part of the plot. All sex and violence takes place off-stage.

Panic flashed through Harold Finch as he approached the gate. It was slightly open which it shouldn’t have been. Then he saw that the lock had been picked and cast aside. It was only a simple padlock, not difficult to pick, but it had always been a sufficient deterrent before. The gate was by no means his only protection either, it represented just the first line of his defense. Even if someone had managed to breach that, it was highly unlikely that they had gotten any further. But what if someone was lying in wait in that dark little alleyway? On the other hand he could hardly wait in the street until whoever was there came out again. Besides, what if someone did get further than the gate? He had to know. He took a few cautious steps into the alley. As soon as they entered, Bear was on high alert. He moved in front of Harold, carefully sniffing the ground. They were almost at the door when he stopped and growled. There was someone in front of the door – a man, lying on the ground, slumped against the doorway. New panic gripped Harold. The man slowly lifted his head, looked at the dog and said a few words, too low for Harold to understand. But the dog stopped growling. Instead he approached the man, sniffed, then whined softly and licked his hands. Harold relaxed a tiny fraction. If the dog didn’t see the man as a threat, he probably wasn’t dangerous. But who was he, and why was he lying in front of Harold’s door? Harold stepped a bit closer to get a better look. The man was hunched in the doorway, wrapped in a big coat. Quite tall, by the looks of it, with dark hair. A homeless guy, Harold thought, drunk and seeking some refuge for the night. But he didn’t really look like he was homeless. He was relatively clean, and Harold couldn’t smell any alcohol either. The man had hardly moved. He hadn’t looked at Harold, and apart from those few words to Bear, he hadn’t said anything. Bear was still licking the man’s hands and whining.  
“What is it, Bear?” Harold asked. “What’s wrong?”  
He bent down, trying to see the man’s face. It was pale, shiny with sweat, and with unnaturally bright eyes. The man wasn’t drunk, he was sick. Harold tried to speak to him.  
“Can I…can I help? Are you ill?”  
The man didn’t answer, but he turned slightly to one side, and his coat fell open. His shirt had a large red stain on one side. Harold recoiled in horror and gasped. He felt faintly nauseated.  
“You’re hurt,” he said. “I’ll call an ambulance.”  
But before he could take out his cell, the man’s hand shot out and grabbed Harold’s wrist.  
“No,” he whispered. “No ambulance. No doctor. They mustn’t find me.”  
Great, thought Harold. Not a homeless guy, but a criminal on the run from the law. Either way, he had to get him away from his door. He tried again:  
“You are hurt. You need an ambulance. I can’t help you, and you can’t stay here. Let me…”  
“No!” The man gripped Harold’s wrist tighter. “Don’t call…they mustn’t find me. If they find me, they’ll kill me.”  
“Who are they?” Harold asked. But the man had already lost his focus. His hand dropped away from Harold’s arm and his head sank onto his chest. Harold tried surreptitiously to take out his cellphone, but the man was immediately alert again. Harold sighed. What was he to do? He had to get the man away from his door. He could probably walk back to the gate and call an ambulance from there. He didn’t think the man was in any condition to run after him. But maybe he was so desperate to stay hidden that he somehow found the strength? And what if there really was someone who tried to kill him? Harold didn’t really believe that, but still…  
His thoughts were racing. He ran a hand over his face, trying to figure out what to do. Then suddenly, in desperation, he came to a decision.  
“Right,” he said straightening up and stepping over the feet of the man to get to a small panel next to the door.  
“This is against my better judgment, but…”  
He punched in a code. The lock opened with a metallic “snap”, and Harold pushed at the heavy steel door. Then he bent over the man again.  
“Can you stand?” he asked. “I can take some of your weight, but not all of it. You’ll have to help me.” Without a word, the man held out an arm, and while Harold pulled, he pushed himself away from the doorway with the other hand. Then he gained his feet, but he had to lean heavily on Harold with an arm round his shoulders. Pain shot up through Harold’s bad leg into his back, but the knee didn’t buckle. Very slowly, step by step, they made their way through the door, a short way along a dark hallway and into the first room on the right. It was an empty office, with only a single chair in it and no other furniture. But the floor was carpeted, and Harold helped the man to lie down on it. He took off his coat and put it under the man’s head. Then he took out his phone again.  
“Listen,” he said, but the man looked like he was about to lose consciousness. Harold put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Listen,” he repeated. “No, don’t go away, listen to me!”  
The man’s eyes fluttered open again, and Harold continued:  
“I know a doctor who owes me a favor. He will come here and help you. No, don’t worry, he’ll do anything I ask him. He won’t tell anyone you’re here, I promise. I can’t help you, and without medical attention you will die. So please, let me call him.”  
The man nodded once, then his eyes closed again.  
“Good,” Harold whispered, “good.” He stood up and moved away slightly to make the call.  
***  
Harold met the doctor in front of the gate to the little alleyway. Normally he didn’t give this address to anyone, but he had no choice. He quickly explained to the doctor how he had found the injured man in front of his door and how desperate the man seemed to stay hidden.  
“I’ll find out who he is and what he has done, and if he is a criminal, I won’t help him to run from the law. But there is a possibility that he is an innocent man on the run from someone who wants to harm him. My first priority is to save his life, and that’s why I need your help. I can trust you not to reveal to anyone what you see and hear tonight. I will deal with any consequences. And I promise you this: any debt you feel you might owe me, I will consider to have been paid after tonight.”  
“What you did for me can never be repaid,” the doctor replied. “But I trust that you know what you are doing. You want to help this man, and I will help you. There’s no more to be said.”  
Harold nodded. Then he led the way into the building and to the room where the stranger was still lying on the floor. The doctor knelt next to him and gave him a cursory examination. He opened the man’s coat and shirt to get a better look at the wound.  
“Gunshot,” he said. Cautiously he felt round the back to find the exit wound.  
“Through and through – that’s good, means I don’t have to dig for the bullet. No major organs compromised. The biggest danger is the inflammation, and he’s lost quite a bit of blood.”  
He turned round to Harold. “Is there somewhere a bit more comfortable?”  
“Upstairs, there’s a bedroom.”  
It was a long and arduous process, but between them they managed to carry the man up the stairs and deposit him on the single bed. Harold helped the doctor to undress the man, but the sight of the bloody wound was too much for him. He turned away and took a few deep breaths. Then he turned back and said to the doctor:  
“Please, do what you can for him. I will give you a hand if you need it, but I don’t think I can be of much assistance.” He shrugged helplessly.  
“Get me some warm water for a start, and something I can clean him up with. I’ll do the rest.”  
Harold went and came back with a bowl of water and a small clean towel. He then looked away again as the doctor wiped the blood away, cleaned the wound, stitched it up and bandaged it. He only dared to look again as the doctor attached an IV line to the man’s arm and held up the bag. “Antibiotics,” he said. “You got something to hang this from?”  
Harold went out again and came back with a coatstand. The doctor attached the bag to one of the hooks. Then he packed his bag and said to Harold:  
“That’s all I can do. If he can beat the inflammation and the fever goes down, he should make it.”  
With one last glance at his patient, he went downstairs with Harold. Outside Harold said:  
“Thank you. I will ask no more of you.”  
“And I told you before, my debt to you can never be paid. Obviously I would prefer not be drawn into whatever this is, but if there are any complications, call me. I will come. Good night.”  
With that the doctor disappeared into the night. Harold sighed and made his painful way upstairs again. The man was lying quietly in his bed. He appeared to be asleep. Harold pulled up a chair and sat down by his bedside. Bear sat next to him, determined to keep his own watch over the stranger.  
And that is how they spent most of the next few days. Harold snatched an hour of sleep here and there, but mostly he looked after the stranger who had so unexpectedly invaded his sanctuary. When the fever was high and he turned uneasily in his bed, Harold wiped the sweat from his face and held his hand to soothe him. During his more lucid periods he gave him water, and sometimes even managed to change him into fresh clothing. On the first day Harold had ordered a few essentials online – boxers, t-shirts and pajamas – and had them delivered to an apartment he owned nearby. He didn’t like to leave his patient alone, but he had to walk the dog anyway, and he was not prepared to reveal the location of his place to anyone else.  
Apart from that he sat in his chair, hoping that the man would recover, and wondering what the consequences would be of this strange turn his life had taken.


	2. Days (part 1)

Once he was over the worst, John started to recover surprisingly quickly. He ate the food that Harold brought him, and he could make his own way to the bathroom and back (no doubt to Harold’s great relief). Soon he felt strong enough to leave his bed, although he had to override Harold’s objections. He chose a moment when he knew Harold wasn’t around, to get up and get dressed. He had been given pajamas to wear in bed – he didn’t know where they came from, they were too big to be Harold’s. But now he wondered what had happened to the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived here. There was a small closet in the bedroom, and in it, to his surprise, he discovered a selection of clothes in his size, including socks and underwear. He chose a pair of jeans and a polo shirt and slowly put them on. He was still feeling very weak, and every action took effort, but he had enough of lying in the same room doing nothing. True, Harold had provided him with a small pile of books, but nothing had really caught his interest. He was ready to explore some more of his surroundings. He still didn’t know what this place was. He knew he was on the second floor of a larger building, but he had only seen his bedroom and the bathroom so far, and for some reason it didn’t feel like they belonged to a normal apartment. He opened his door and stepped into the hall. The room next to his was locked, but he was already pretty certain that this was Harold’s bedroom. The next room along was tiny. It held nothing but a cupboard and some shelves, on which scattered stationery supplies were gathering dust. There were no more doors until the end of the hall. He took one step beyond and stood gaping in surprise. The room he had stepped into was much larger, but filled with row upon row of metal shelving holding books. He was in the stacks of a library. This was unexpected. A library? With bedrooms? He went along between the shelves until he came to an open area. There were a couple of desks holding computer equipment. John could see at least two monitors plus an open laptop. There was an office chair facing the monitors, another chair on the other side of the desks, and a third one in a corner. On the side was a small kitchen area with a kettle and a microwave.  
This had to be where Harold spent most of his days. But what did he do here? What did he need all those computers for? And, above all, why was all this in a library? John shook his head. He had been here for two weeks now, and all he knew about the man who had saved him was his name, and the name of his dog. Well, there were a few things he had observed. John’s memory of the first week was hazy, but he knew that Harold had cared for him as good as any nurse would have done. But as soon as the fever abated and John started to talk and ask questions, he became evasive and distant. He continued to give the best care he could, and he was never anything but polite and friendly, but he gave absolutely nothing away. His manner was as formal as the suits he wore, and it was emphasized by the stiff way in which he carried himself. John could see that he was obviously suffering from the consequences of severe injuries, but of course he had no idea what had happened to him. That didn’t really interest him anyway, but he wanted to know just who this guy was. He had a feeling, though, that direct questions would not yield many answers. Curiously, Harold had not asked him any questions either. Maybe he was saving them for later. Or maybe he didn’t want to know anything. Maybe he was just waiting for John to be well enough, and then kick him out and wash his hands of the whole affair. In John’s opinion that was the best he could do.  
He started to feel a bit weak in the knees now, so he sat down in front of the computers. He jiggled the mouse, and one of the screens sprang to life, prompting him for a password. John sighed. No chance to find out anything that way either. He woke up the other screen and the laptop as well, but they were just as inaccessible. If he had known anything at all about Harold Finch, he could have had a go at guessing the password. Or maybe not. Somehow Harold didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d use his dog’s name or his mother’s birthday.  
For a few minutes he amused himself twirling round in the office chair. Suddenly he heard a noise somewhere behind the stacks, a door opening, and then Bear was running towards him and jumping up to lick his face. He was closely followed by Harold, who looked at John with an expression which mingled pleasure, concern and annoyance in equal measures.  
“You’re up,” he said.  
“Yes,” said John. Then he looked around and said: “It’s a library.”  
“Yes,” said Harold, echoing John.  
“But why are you living in a library? Are you living here? What is this place?”  
“You already said it. It’s a library. And yes, I live here.”  
“But why? Do you own it? Can a private person own a library? I mean, this looks like a public library to me.”  
Harold was starting to look more annoyed than pleased at all these questions, but he decided to give a few answers for now.  
“This was a public library, until it got closed down – budget cuts. Ownership passed to a bank, which then leased the building to a company I own. The bank went bust, the company merged with another company, and this building slipped into a kind of administrative limbo. So – yes, you could say, more or less, that I own this library. I had a couple of the offices converted into bedrooms, the bathroom with the shower was here anyway, and there is a bigger kitchen downstairs. Apart from that, there are several floors of books. Have a look around. You can borrow any book you like.”  
He looked straight at John – definitely annoyed now – until John caught on and vacated his chair for him. He went over to the chair in the corner and sat down, watching as Harold established contact with his computer system and started to type. Well, he had a few answers, but he still didn’t know anything really. He would leave it for now, he thought. He probably had a better chance of getting answers if he tried for them slowly, one by one. He called Bear over to him and concentrated on combing his fingers through his fur and fondling his ears.  
During the next few days he made excursions through the building, slowly gaining strength and getting to know the place. It was just like Harold had said. Most of it was still as it had been when this was a proper library. There were several floors of book stacks, a few offices and store rooms, something that had obviously been the staff breakroom, and the rooms that Harold had converted into bedrooms. He was also slightly closer to finding out who his mysterious savior was. From the sketchy answers and sparse hints a picture had emerged: it appeared that Harold was what old novels called “independently wealthy”. Harold had told him that he used to be a software programmer. He had come up with a few pieces of software that had proved to be very useful and highly profitable. He had made a few clever investments with the money he had earned, made more money, more investments, bought shares in various companies, acquired real estate, and eventually had enough money that he could give up his day job. He now just managed his investments, sat on the board of a few companies, and otherwise did as he pleased. And what pleased him was evidently to sit in his library and fiddle with his computers or re-shelve his books. John wondered what he was working on since he had given up the programming job long ago, but Harold had just said: “I like to keep my hand in.” Occasionally he went out, presumably to one of his board meetings, but otherwise he didn’t seem to do anything much. So far John had not noticed that he had any kind of social life.  
He still hadn’t asked John anything about who he was, his past, or how he came to lie in front of the library entrance. When John confronted Harold directly about this, Harold looked at him with a strange expression and said: “I know exactly who you are.” That had puzzled John. He had given Harold his name – or at least the name he had gone by for the last ten years – but nothing else. Or – wait, there had been something. He had forgotten about it, but there had been a driver’s license in his coat pocket, with his picture but a different name. Putting those two things together, Harold had evidently drawn some very astute conclusions. But to find out “exactly” who John was would take more than just putting a couple names into Google. That was information nobody could find, unless…It had to be. If Harold really knew as much as he claimed, there was no other way. The picture John had made himself of Harold suddenly underwent a considerable shift as he realized what he must have done. Harold had hacked the CIA. And probably not just the CIA, but other government agencies as well. And gained access to highly classified documents. That’s how he had found out that John Reese was on the run from his own people, that his own agency had turned on him, had tried to eliminate him. And not only that: he probably knew just what kind of work John had done for the agency, that he was basically a professional killer. John wondered how long Harold had known. He obviously couldn’t have known when he first took him in, but, if he was the genius hacker that John had to conclude he was, he must have found out pretty soon afterwards. And yet he hadn’t turned John in. As John was slowly gaining strength, he waited every day for Harold to say something about him having to leave. He couldn’t blame Harold for wanting him off his premises sooner rather than later. But Harold didn’t say anything. And another thing puzzled John: Harold had to know that he was a highly trained assassin, and yet he didn’t seem to be afraid. Even in his weakened state there were all kinds of things he could have done to Harold. The other man was smaller, lighter, at least ten years older, and that’s before taking his disabilities into account. John knew that he would never do anything to hurt the man who had saved his life. It seemed that somehow Harold knew that as well.


	3. Days (part 2)

As the days went by, John recovered enough to venture outside and start exploring the neighborhood. He took over some of the dog-walking duties, which both he and Bear enjoyed. Bear was a big, active, intelligent dog who probably didn’t get enough exercise. Harold was diligent about taking Bear to the park once a day and on shorter walks up and down the block, but he clearly wasn’t built for vigorous physical exertion. John looked forward to being fit enough to start running again, and then he could take Bear with him, which would do him good. Bear wasn’t fat, Harold was very careful not to overfeed him, but he was probably heavier than he should have been. He wasn’t quite there yet, though, and of course he didn’t know how much longer he would be around.  
For now he explored the neighborhood in ever widening circles, with or without Bear, and on one of these outings he suddenly saw himself presented with the opportunity to find out something more about his mysterious host. He hadn’t been following Harold, but quite by chance he saw him coming out of a building further up the street. He waited until Harold had disappeared from view, then he walked up to the building he had come out of. It had a sign above the door: “Community Library”. Taking his chance, he entered.   
It was indeed an ordinary, small branch of a public library. He took a few steps, looking around. He hadn’t really intended to talk to anyone, but the lady behind the information desk asked:   
“Can I help you?”  
John looked at her. She was young, maybe thirty, with a chubby, cheerful face and a bright pink cardigan. John approached the desk, but didn’t quite know what to say. It didn’t matter though, because the woman continued:   
“Hi, I’m Cheryl. I haven’t seen you around before, have I?”  
“Er…no, I’m new to this neighborhood.”  
“Welcome to the neighborhood then!” She smiled at him. “It doesn’t look like much, but there are nice people here. How long have you been here? Do you know anyone? Or, if you want to meet people, there are all kinds of community groups you can join…” She waved a hand at a notice board on the wall.  
John was slightly overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, but he could see that she meant well.  
“I don’t know,” he said with a smile and a shrug, “I’m not really the joining type. But I think I just saw someone I know – Harold Finch?”  
“Oh yes, Mr Finch is a reader here. Doesn’t come in that often, only about once a month, but he’s awfully nice. He donated the computers”- she pointed towards a desk where a few teenagers were sitting in front of three computer screens – “said he was upgrading his system and asked if we wanted the old computers. But they weren’t old at all! He does all the software updates for us as well, you know, security and all that…”  
“Does he work with computers, then, if he needs such an up-to-date system?”  
“I don’t know.”   
Cheryl seemed to think for a moment if she should gossip about one of her customers, but she was in a chatty mood.   
“I’m not sure he works at all. I mean, he always comes in during working hours, and he never mentions any job. It’s really hard getting a job when you’ve got a disability. I know there are all these anti-discrimination laws, but that doesn’t really help. I know, because my brother has cerebral palsy, and he couldn’t get a job for the longest time. He’s really clever, he went to law school and everything, but he couldn’t get anything for ages. But,” she beamed at him, “he’s got a great job now! It was a real stroke of luck, he hadn’t even applied for it, but suddenly this insurance company got in touch and said they’d seen his résumé on one of those recruitment websites, and did he want to come for an interview with their legal department! And they took him on, and he says it’s great, he hadn’t really considered working for an insurance, but of course they need law experts, and he’s really happy there.”  
Cheryl paused for a moment in her monologue, so John took the opportunity to ask:   
“What’s the name of the company?”  
“Oh, I always forget, it’s one of those traditional, old-fashioned names – wait, I’ve got his card here” – she rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a small printed card – “here we are: ‘Universal Heritage Insurance’. Told you it was old-fashioned…”  
John could almost feel a piece of the puzzle click into place. One day, when his fever had gone down but he was still too weak to leave the bed, Harold had been obliged to go out and leave him alone in the library. He had given John a card and told him: “If you feel worse or you need anything, call me on that number.” The card bore the logo of “Universal Heritage Insurance” and the name “Harold Wren”. John had looked at Harold, but he had just shrugged and made no comment. This was obviously one of Harold’s companies, where for some reason he was known under a different name. Well, John had been known under a few different names himself, so he didn’t ask, and he had soon forgotten that card anyway. But now he had encountered that company name for the second time, and the wheels in his brain were set in motion. What Cheryl had just told him – was Harold involved somehow? Or was he jumping to conclusions here? Was it just coincidence that the brother of an acquaintance of Harold’s had been given a job in his company? Given that Cheryl was so communicative even with complete strangers, Harold must have known about her brother’s difficulties. And since it was already established that he was a nice man, who had given the library some nearly new computers and gave up his time to service them, not to mention having saved John’s life, it was no great leap of the imagination that he was the moving force behind the insurance company’s job offer.  
Fortunately, here right in front of John was a source of information who wouldn’t even notice when she was pumped. He now changed the subject and asked:   
“I noticed that your sign says ‘Community Library’. Are you not a public library then?”  
“Oh, we used to be,” explained Cheryl, “but our branch got closed down – the budget cuts, you know. It was a real shame, because we did a lot for the people in the neighborhood. Kids doing their homework here, old folks coming in for a chat. But then we got this big donation, and so we got together with another closed branch, hired new premises and re-opened as a community-run library. That’s why it says ‘Community Library’ “.  
“That must have been quite a big donation, then,” said John.   
“I know!” exclaimed Cheryl, “and we don’t even know who it’s from! It’s an anonymous donor. It wasn’t a one-off gift either, the rent for the premises is being paid, and there’s enough to pay for a part-time librarian. The rest of the work is done by volunteers - I’m one – and we do some fundraising ourselves, but without this unknown donor we wouldn’t exist. We are so grateful, if only we knew who it was!”  
“Well, if I ever find out, I’ll let you know.” John winked at Cheryl and turned to leave.   
“Wait!” she called. “Don’t you want to sign up as a reader?”  
“Er…I haven’t got a fixed address yet,” John told her. “I’ll come back when I’m settled. Nice talking to you, Cheryl.”  
Outside John paused to gather his thoughts. Was he really on the trail of his mysterious savior, or was he chasing after red herrings? He had a hunch that he knew who that anonymous donor was, but what gave him that hunch he couldn’t tell. Just because Harold had behaved in such a selfless manner towards him, that didn’t mean he went round the whole neighborhood doing good. But it was possible that he did. He had a connection to this library. In fact, he had mentioned once how much he disapproved of the enforced closure of so many libraries – “the decline of western civilization” he had called it – so if he had the chance of saving a couple, he would surely take it. All in all, it seemed a line of investigation worth pursuing. John didn’t have anything better to do anyway, and it seemed a good way to get to know the neighborhood.  
Over the next two weeks John discovered a homeless shelter with soup kitchen, a women’s shelter which also offered legal advice and counseling sessions, and a small health center, all kept afloat by large sums of money from an anonymous donor. All of these places knew Harold Finch as a supporter, who helped them in some small way. He had donated some furniture and bedding to the homeless shelter. He had put the women’s shelter in touch with the lawyer who offered legal advice to their clients. At the health center he was known as Mr Wren, who had arranged a very favorable insurance deal for them, and attended their annual fundraising dinners.  
So that was what Harold did with his money, or at least some of it. John couldn’t be entirely sure that it really was Harold behind all these anonymous donations unless he asked him outright, but he didn’t really want to do that. He was pretty sure anyway. But that still left a great deal about Harold unexplained. Why was he so secretive about it? And while John admired his obvious altruism, there had to be more to him. No man is made entirely out of good deeds. He started to follow Harold around more often, but didn’t see him do anything more exciting than walk the dog or shop for groceries.


	4. Days (part 3)

A fortnight later however John witnessed something that made him see Harold in a new light yet again. It was by coincidence this time that he spotted Harold entering the rather run-down diner. He had ventured quite a long way away from the neighborhood of the library and hadn’t expected to see Harold at all. He managed to follow him into the diner and sat down in a nearby booth, where he could see Harold but remained unobserved by him.   
Harold wasn’t alone. His companion was a teenage girl who in John’s judgment looked like a hooker, hair bleached blonde with pink streaks, minuscule skirt, low-cut top and four-inch heels. John was surprised. He hadn’t pegged Harold as someone who went in for that sort of…entertainment. But he didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend, and if he wanted sex – well, this was a way to get it. Why he had taken the girl to a diner instead of a hotel room, John didn’t know, but maybe this was another instance of Harold being a nice guy – make sure the girl gets at least one good meal today before enjoying her services. He watched as Harold ordered for both of them, then he was distracted for a moment as the waitress approached to take his own order. When he looked back to Harold and the girl, they seemed to be engaged in conversation, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. Their food arrived, and they stopped talking while they ate. When they had finished, Harold pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to the girl. Was he paying her already? Indeed, when the girl took out the contents of the envelope, John could see that it was money – quite a lot by the looks of it – but there was something else, something that looked like a ticket. This didn’t look like a cash-for-sex transaction. What was Harold paying her for? The girl now slid to the end of the bench and stood up, and John noticed something he hadn’t seen before: she was pregnant. She was only just starting to show, but to a trained eye like John’s it was obvious. A horrifying thought entered John’s mind: had Harold gotten the girl pregnant and was now paying her off? He was faintly repulsed by the thought. He considered himself to be a fairly broadminded guy, but the girl looked to be about seventeen and Harold had to be close to fifty at least. The girl bent down, retrieved a travel bag and went with it into the restroom. When she came out again, she had exchanged the mini skirt for a pair of jeans, and the heels for sneakers. Harold stood up, too, and together they went outside. John quickly threw some money onto the table and followed. They weren’t far ahead, and they didn’t walk for very long either before Harold hailed a cab. The travel bag was put into the trunk, then Harold shook the girl’s hand and helped her into the back seat. Then he turned round and started to walk straight towards John, who had to dive into a corner shop to avoid being seen.  
What was it that he had just witnessed? John didn’t know, but it didn’t feel right. Harold might be a good guy, but you didn’t pay large sums of money to pregnant teenage prostitutes for virtuous reasons. John had known that there had to be another side to Harold than being the guardian angel of the neighborhood, but he hadn’t expected something sleazy like that. If that was what the secret Harold was like, he no longer wanted anything to do with him. He would have to leave. Actually, he could leave right now. Simply not go back to the library. Disappear and never return. That might be the easy way, but it wasn’t quite right. After all, he couldn’t deny that Harold had saved his life and that he had shown him a lot of kindness. He would be honest with Harold. He would offer to repay him in any way he could for what he had done, but he would also confront him about what he had seen today and then tell him that he had to leave. Although he probably wouldn’t even have to say that. No doubt Harold would throw him out anyway. Whichever way it happened, best to make a clean break, and then he could start to think about how to put his life back together again.  
When he entered the library, Harold was seated in front of his computers as usual. After fending off Bear’s enthusiastic greeting, John stepped up to the desk, waited until Harold turned to look up at him, and said:   
“I saw you today.”  
Harold’s face was expressionless.   
“Yes?” was all he replied.  
“Who was the girl?” That came out somewhat more menacing than John had intended, but he didn’t care.  
“That is none of your business.”  
But John wasn’t going to be brushed off like that. He spoke with a cold fury now:   
“You saved my life. You protected me. I’m grateful for that. But if you go round getting teenage girls pregnant, maybe I need to protect people from you.”  
Harold looked at him for a long moment. Then he took off his glasses, rubbed a hand over his face and put them on again.   
“Sit down,” he said finally, “this will take some time and I’m getting a pain in the neck looking up at you like that.”  
Warily John pulled up the chair from the corner and sat down.  
“What have you found out about me?” Harold asked.   
That unexpected question slightly took the wind out of John’s sails. Feeling calmer than he had a moment ago, he answered with the first thing that came into his mind:   
“I spoke to Cheryl at the library. The one you gave the computers to.”  
Harold nodded, but didn’t speak.  
“Her brother – it was you who gave him that job, wasn’t it? Why? Just to be charitable?”  
“It’s a company, not a charity, Mr Reese. I looked at his qualifications, liked what he had to offer and gave him a chance to prove himself – which he did.”  
“The library – that’s you as well, isn’t it? You are the one that’s keeping it open.”  
“So what if I am?”  
“I’ve found the other places as well, the homeless shelter, the health center – they’re all kept operational with your money.”  
“Yes.”  
“Why? I mean, what are you getting out of it? There’s no profit in it, and you don’t even get any recognition since they don’t know it’s you. So why?”  
Harold looked blank for a moment, as if nobody had ever asked him that question before and he didn’t know what to say. Eventually he answered:   
“Because I can.”  
“Because you can? You are giving large sums of money to these institutions, and you don’t even want your picture in the paper for it. Nobody does something like that for nothing. There has to be something in it for you, and I want to know what it is, because I’m starting to think that it can’t be anything good.”  
A kind of cold anger was creeping into Harold’s expression now, but he calmly said:   
“Apart from the fact that it is still none of your business, Mr Reese, there is no other answer. These institutions do important work. They need money. I have money. So I give them some. Other people give to charities. I happen to have found causes worth supporting in my neighborhood, so that’s what I do. And believe me, the last thing I want is my picture in the paper.”  
John didn’t quite know whether to believe him or not. Someone giving away so much money without wanting anything in return, that took a level of altruism he hadn’t encountered before. But he supposed it was possible.  
“You must have a lot of money, then,” he said.  
“I have enough.”  
“That still doesn’t explain why you give money to pregnant teenagers. Who was she?”  
Harold didn’t answer for so long that John thought he wouldn’t answer at all.  
Finally Harold sighed and began to talk in a low voice:   
“I didn’t want to mention anything to you, at least not yet. I realize that I kept putting it off because I didn’t want you to think that your continued stay at the library was in any way conditional. Human interaction isn’t my strong suit, and I am only too aware of the dangers of not expressing myself clearly and being misunderstood. However, circumstances have forced my hand, so I have no choice but to explain what I do as best I can. You are right, there is something else I do besides giving money to good causes. I realized some time ago that not only good causes need money, but individuals as well. I know that not every problem can be solved with money, but often enough it can bring about a change in a person’s circumstances that makes a solution possible. The girl you saw me with today – she is a runaway from a small town in Maryland. She fell out with her parents and came to New York to join a man who she thought was her boyfriend. He didn’t want anything to do with her and dropped her to fend for herself. She found another man who proposed to look after her, but he soon turned out to be worse than the supposed boyfriend. He raped her at least once and forced her into prostitution. Whether she became pregnant by him or one of her clients I don’t know. She possibly doesn’t know herself. She knew that when her pimp realized she was pregnant things would get even worse for her, especially since she had made up her mind to keep the baby. It is very difficult for a prostitute to escape from her situation, especially if she is underage and has no money. So you can see that a certain sum of money can at least open the door to a way out. I gave her that money and a ticket to Baltimore. Her relations with her parents are still strained, but she has an aunt who is willing to take her in. She’s on her way there now.”  
Harold paused, but John didn’t say anything. He was more confused than ever. The story that Harold had just told him sounded even more unlikely that the one about giving away a lot of money for nothing. He had never heard anything like it. However, for a lie designed to cover the fact that he’d gotten a young girl pregnant, it was too elaborate.  
“You said this is something you do – does that mean that there are more like this girl? This isn’t a one-off, is it?”  
“No, there have been more people like that, but it would be too tedious to tell you all their stories. Suffice it to say that there are always people in need of help, and that I try to help them one at a time.”  
“But how do you find these people? Since nobody knows you are this big philanthropist, and I can’t imagine that you advertise for them – how do you know someone needs help?”  
Harold gestured to his computers.   
“The internet. People talk about everything on there, on Facebook, on blogs, on internet forums…they describe their problems, they are seeking help. I have my computer set up to search for them and bring them to my attention. I have programmed it with a search algorithm that looks for particular key words and the like, and sorts them according to urgency – well, it’s complicated, but the program finds these cries for help that are out there and feeds me the names. Of course, I can only deal with one person at a time, so it passes them on to me one by one. And then I do what I can.”  
John still found it difficult to take all this in. He had never heard anything like it. But he was usually good at spotting when somebody was lying to him, and seemed that Harold was telling the truth. Well, he had heard of eccentric billionaires before, and if that was what he wanted to do with his money…  
Even if it was all true, that still didn’t explain why Harold had been so reluctant to tell him anything about it. So he said:   
“That still isn’t the whole truth, is it? Why does this have anything to do with me staying here or not?”  
Harold hesitated, but then he reached out to his computer and brought a picture of a woman up on the screen.  
“You were right, money is not always the solution. Sometimes a case comes to my attention where a person needs help of a different nature, help that I am unable to give.”  
He gestured towards the screen.  
“This is Shanelle Watson. She works as an office manager in a law firm. For the past six months she has been subjected to unwanted sexual advances from one of the partners. You know the sort of thing – suggestive e-mails and text messages, inappropriate touching in the elevator or behind the photocopier, I hardly need to go on. She tried to complain to one of the other partners, but he laughed it off. There is no HR department she could turn to, and the other office workers are too intimidated to support her. She could leave her job of course, but it is well paid, at a respected firm, and she worked hard to get it, so she is understandably reluctant to do so. She has been talking about her plight to her friends on Facebook, which is how I know about it. You can see that money would not help Ms Watson. I believe that her tormentor could be persuaded to leave her alone if he could be shown that Ms Watson is not without protection, and that there would be unpleasant consequences for him if he doesn’t desist. Unfortunately, this kind of forceful persuasion is not part of my skillset.”  
“But it is part of mine,” said John, “is that what you were thinking?”  
Harold didn’t meet his eyes but nodded.  
“So if I help you with your…cases, whatever, I get to stay here, is that it? I do your ‘forceful persuasion’ for you, and in return I can keep my room, and you won’t shop me to the FBI?”  
“No!”   
Harold almost shouted it.   
“That is not what I wanted to say! You see, that was why I was so reluctant to tell you anything at all, because I was afraid you would misunderstand. Please believe me, Mr Reese, I put no conditions on your continued stay at the library. You can stay here as long as you need, and I won’t betray you to anyone. But I thought…I hoped…maybe you would help me because you wanted to. I’ve read your files, Mr Reese. I believe that you, too, want to protect people. But I wasn’t going to blackmail you. I was going to offer you a job.”  
He fell silent and gave John the space to think about what he had just heard – space that was definitely needed. John had already decided that Harold was telling him the truth, so that wasn’t what he had to think about, but – a job? Could he actually do it? Would he want to?   
It was true, John was quite reluctant to leave the library. Apart from the safety and convenience of the current arrangement, he had come to like Harold. That was why he was so hurt when he thought that Harold had disappointed him. And Harold had judged him correctly. He had always wanted to help and protect people. This desire had led him down some avenues where his original purpose became lost, morals became hazy, and the ends no longer justified the means. Unfortunately he had been good at his job, the job he couldn’t keep in the end. Was it possible that here was a new job for him, a new purpose, which made use of his skills, but for better ends? It would have to be his decision. Harold wouldn’t demand anything from him, it had to be freely given. And deep down he knew that he wanted to give something back to the man who had saved his life. He could do worse than giving it a try. Just work one case, maybe, see how it goes. He could always walk away again if it didn’t work out.  
He gestured to the picure of the woman on the screen.  
“So, what’s your plan?”  
Relief and joy showed on Harold’s face for the briefest of moments before it went back to its usual neutral expression.   
“The photocopier at the law firm needs servicing,” he said blandly.  
Harold’s plan was this: he would pose as the photocopier service guy and secretly fit the machine with a tiny camera. Next time the lawyer fondled Ms Watson, he would have a recording of the incident, which he hoped John could use to make it clear to the perpetrator that he would no longer get away with his actions. A simple plan, but why overcomplicate things? John thought it could work.  
Step one was accomplished soon enough, and they didn’t have to wait long for step two. The lawyer couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and, as they had hoped, was captured on film. All John had to do was to follow their man as he went to a bar after work, sidle up to him and show him the clip on his phone. After intial blustering denials the lawyer crumbled very quickly, particularly when John showed him how he could be easily identified by the ring he wore.   
“If you don’t leave Ms Watson alone,” John told him with relish, “we will send this to everyone else in the firm. And then, when they fire you, we will send this to every other law firm as well. You will never work in this city again.”  
All in all it had been a very satisfying adventure. John felt good about himself afterwards. He had been able to truly help someone, to stop a bad thing from happening, and to make a small difference in the world. Helping one person wasn’t much, but if he wanted to, there would be others. And why should he think a small difference not worth making just because it was small? What he had done made him feel good about himself. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time. And it didn’t have to stop there. He could take Harold’s job offer and join him in his slightly mad crusade. It made him feel quite optimistic just to think about it.  
He went back to the library and walked up to Harold, who was sitting at his desk, typing away.  
“I think I’ll stay,” he said.  
And Harold looked up at him and smiled.


	5. Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only overtly rinchy chapter, with hugs and kisses and everything. If you don't like that sort of thing, you could skip this chapter, it doesn't add much to the plot, I just really enjoyed writing it. Featuring insecure!Finch, also because I like it.

The day had been almost unbearably hot. Towards the evening a storm was threatening, but it didn’t break until after they’d gone to bed. The thunder and lightning lasted for about half an hour, then it was just the rain pouring down. The temperature had dropped considerably.  
John hadn’t been able to sleep, first because of the heat, then because of the noise of the storm. Now he was lying on his back, listening to the rain lashing the windows and trying not to think about Harold. He wondered if Harold had the same trouble sleeping. Maybe he was afraid of thunder. He felt an irresistible urge to go and check on him. He tried to push those thoughts away, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t stop his mind from picturing Harold in his bed, awake or asleep, with his dog nearby. Was it really possible that he missed Harold, just because he hadn’t seen him for a few hours? Unable to fight the urge any longer, he got up, crept along to Harold’s bedroom and opened his door as quietly as he could. Bear raised his head as he entered, but John signaled to him to lie down again. Very slowly he took a few steps until he stood next to Harold’s bed. Harold was fast asleep. He was lying on his side, curled up as far as his damaged body would allow. The blanket was bunched up around his feet, and since he was wearing nothing but a pair of silk shorts, he was shivering in the cool air that came in from the window. He seemed to be dreaming as well. His hands, which were close to his face, twitched, and he made a small whimpering sound. John reached out and very lightly touched his shoulder. Harold stilled. Very, very slowly John lowered himself onto the bed and pulled the blanket up over both of them. Harold didn’t wake up, but he stopped shivering. John stretched out a little and put his head down on the mattress. He didn’t touch Harold, but even so, it felt good lying next to him like that. He would stay there for a little while, listening to Harold’s breathing and feeling his warmth which communicated itself to him through the blanket. He just needed to take care not to fall asleep, so he could creep back to his own bed before Harold woke up.  
The next night he had the same trouble sleeping. His mind kept wandering to the previous night, when he had been lying so close to Harold. He wanted to experience that again, to feel the other man next to him, and he wanted more than that: he wanted to touch him, to feel his skin, to breathe his scent, to hold him close…Stop it, John told himself. Harold would never allow it. Harold, who was always so distant, so protective of his personal space that he usually shied away from touch altogether. Or did he? When Harold had found John in front of his door, he had been so out of it that he didn’t really recall much of what had happened in the first few days. But there was one consistent memory: when he came out of unconsciousness not knowing where he was, whenever he woke from a nightmare, whenever he drifted up from his fevered fantasies into a moment of lucidity, there was always the feeling of a small hand holding his. That hand had guided him through that first week, when things got worse before they got better. John knew that if he had been alone, he would have given up any hope of surviving and would have allowed himself to slip away. But because of the knowledge that he was not alone, that there was someone to hold onto, he found the strength to fight for his life. He found at least a shred of hope, and that had pulled him through. As soon as he was well enough to think clearly, to talk and ask questions, and to take the first steps on the road to recovery, Harold had kept himself at a distance. He did everything for John that he had to do, and he didn’t do it grudgingly either, but with care and attention. But he didn’t give any sign that John was anything more to him than a pleasant acquaintance or, more recently, someone to work with. It was only in the last few weeks that something had changed. It had started with the dog. Usually, Harold sent John to the park with Bear while he stayed at the library, or he would take Bear on a walk round the block on his own. One day, though, Harold had suggested that they go to the park together. He didn’t explain why, and John didn’t ask, but they all seemed to enjoy it, including Bear, so that they repeated the exercise more often. They didn’t talk much during these walks, and certainly Harold didn’t tell John anything of a personal nature, except perhaps his favorite ice cream flavor. The walks in the park were only the start, though. Harold took John to museums, to the cinema, introduced him to restaurants he liked and asked John for his recommendations. In these few weeks he had opened up to John like never before. Even though he kept his private thoughts and feelings as closely guarded as ever, John learned a lot about his tastes in art, what food he preferred, what books he liked. What was the meaning of all this? John couldn’t figure it out. Sometimes he thought that Harold was attracted to him but was too shy to make a move. Other times he dismissed that thought as wishful thinking on his part. Oh yes, wishful thinking! Because John had slowly realized that even if Harold wasn’t really attracted to him, he was certainly attracted to Harold. It had taken him a while to put a name to his feelings. But what else could it mean if he looked forward to every minute he got to spend in Harold’s company, if he couldn’t stop thinking about him when they were apart, when he felt a little jolt of joy in his stomach when he saw Harold approaching their meeting point? If he was honest with himself he would have to confess that he had fallen for Harold, and their new-found closeness just made him want to be much, much closer yet.  
And that’s why he was lying sleepless on his bed, thinking of Harold in the other bedroom and longing to go to him and be as close as possible. But what would Harold think? Would he be shocked? Disgusted? Would he send John away, not just out of the bedroom but out of the library and his life? Or was it just possible that he returned his feelings?  
There was only one way to find out. Like the night before, John crept along the corridor to Harold’s bedroom, opened the door, hushed the dog and approached the bed. Harold was lying curled up under the blanket this time, breathing steadily. He was either asleep or pretending to be. John very cautiously lifted the blanked and slipped underneath. He settled as close to Harold as he dared. Then he lifted up his hand and lightly put it on Harold’s shoulder. Harold didn’t react, except that suddenly he was breathing faster. So he wasn’t asleep after all. Encouraged by the absence of rejection, John started to stroke his skin in small circles. He was breathing faster himself now. It felt just as good as he had hoped. He had often wondered what Harold would feel like underneath all that finely tailored clothing, and now he was finding out. The skin was warm and soft under his touch, and he caught the faint citrus scent of Harold’s soap. He felt a warm rush of desire course through him, but he knew that he had to keep that to himself for the moment. This might be the beginning of something, but it was so fragile that he didn’t know if it would survive the night. Slowly, still stroking in small circles, he worked his way over Harold’s shoulder and down to his chest. Harold still hadn’t said or done anything. But when John started to comb his fingers through his chest hair, he finally stirred. His own hand came up, caught John’s and pressed it close to his chest. John felt another rush of warmth. He wasn’t going to be rejected, at least not tonight. Harold wanted him to be close as much as he did. With a sigh of satisfaction, he curled himself around Harold and settled there, feeling Harold’s heart beat underneath his hand. And like this, curled together, with their fingers entwined, they eventually fell asleep.  
The next morning John awoke early. He was now lying with his back to Harold. Slowly he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Harold was curled up as he had been all night, still asleep. It almost looked as if he hadn’t moved at all. The memory of the night suddenly seemed unreal to John. Had they really slept in the same bed? Was it really possible that Harold had allowed him to come so close, to touch him, to curl around him and hold his hand? And what would he think about it now? John knew that things that seemed good in the heat of the night often looked completely different in the cold light of day.  
When John stood up and moved towards the door, Bear lifted his head and looked at him. He motioned for the dog to follow him, closed the door behind them and went to his own bedroom. He got dressed and took Bear for an early morning walk to clear his head. Bear seemed to enjoy himself, but it didn’t work for him. What had happened last night was what he had wanted. He didn’t regret any of it. On the contrary, he hoped that it was only the beginning of a much more intimate relationship. But what about Harold? Last night he had let John come closer than ever. But maybe he had second thoughts now. John was almost afraid to go back to the library because he didn’t know what Harold would say or do. He didn’t really have a choice, though, and so, with his feelings still in turmoil, he entered the library again.   
While he was out, Harold had got up and prepared breakfast for the two of them. John approached the table with apprehension, but Harold’s behavior was entirely non-committal. He didn’t say anything beyond “good morning” and a few inconsequential remarks. John couldn’t really say much himself. Nor felt he able to eat. With a tight feeling in his stomach he tried to watch Harold without seeming to do so. Was he not going to give at least some little sign as to what he felt about last night? Or would John have to bring up the subject? He stirred his coffee and concentrated so hard on summoning up the courage that he almost didn’t hear Harold asking him to pass the sugar. He grabbed the sugarbowl and handed it across the table. And there it was – the slightest brush of Harold’s fingers over his as he took the bowl, a half-smile that lasted for a fraction of a second. But it was the sign John had been hoping for. It meant that Harold had enjoyed last night too. That he felt it was the right thing. And that he wouldn’t mind doing it again. With pure relief John smiled back at him and was finally able to give his breakfast the attention it deserved.  
Nothing was ever said between them. On the surface their lives continued as before. But every night John came into Harold’s bedroom and lay down beside him. John knew that with Harold he had to proceed very slowly and cautiously. He could sense that while Harold wanted to be with John as much as John wanted to be with Harold, he was also confused and a bit frightened by his feelings. In a way Harold was like a bird which has become used to your presence and has learned to pick food from your hand, but is always ready to take flight if you make a loud noise or sudden movement. But if their journey had to be a slow one, well, so be it. They could enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Night after night John came to Harold and set about exploring his body bit by bit, going a bit further every time, and letting Harold do his own exploring. If anything, Harold was even more cautious that he was. He brushed his hands over John’s skin with the lightest of touches, making it tingle with excitement. John loved Harold’s hands. He had always felt a curious enjoyment in watching him type on his keyboards, tinkering with the innards of his computer or stirring sugar into his tea. To feel those hands on his body now was very sweet to him. And then one night those hands had moved behind his head and brought them close for their first long, deep kiss, which was infinitely sweeter.  
Once again John was lying curled around Harold, his chest touching Harold’s back and his face nestling in the curve of his neck. He loved the smell of Harold’s skin – somehow he always smelt freshly laundered. He planted a few small kisses on the back of Harold’s neck, which made him giggle. Slowly he moved his hand over Harold’s chest, following the line of hair down to the belly button, and stroking the soft curve of his belly. But when he moved his hand slightly back to move it down his thigh, Harold flinched and pushed him away.   
“Don’t,” he said.   
John knew that Harold’s hip and thigh were covered in a network of scars extending down to his knee, even if he hadn’t touched him there before. He had never asked how he got them, and all he said now was: “Does it hurt?”  
“No, of course not, just…don’t.”  
John moved his hand away, but he wasn’t going to let the issue drop.  
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.  
“Yes…no…I just don’t want…”  
John propped himself up on his elbow and pulled at Harold’s shoulder to turn him onto his back so he could look at him.  
“Harold,” he said, “I was sure you wanted this as much as I do. You’ve been enjoying it, you can’t deny that. I would never do anything you don’t want, but I have to know what’s the matter.”  
Harold avoided his gaze. “I shouldn’t have let this come so far,” he said. “I should have stopped this much earlier. It’s my fault, I…”  
He took a deep breath. Still not looking at John, he continued:   
“Those…they always remind me how crippled I really am. And I guess…I didn’t want you to be reminded as well.” He snorted in derision at his own words. “As if you could forget. It’s the first thing anybody notices about me.”  
He finally plucked up the courage to look at John.   
“I’ve been enjoying myself too much. I’ve been deluding myself that this could work. But I know that as soon as you realize how broken I am, you will see that we are incompatible. I know you will leave, and I don’t blame you. I think…I just wanted to delay that moment. But it’s better sooner than later.”  
John stared at Harold, absolutely lost for words. Was that really how he felt? He had had no idea. And besides, he couldn’t be more wrong. He looked into Harold’s eyes, and his heart went out to him. Harold always looked peculiarly vulnerable without his glasses, but now he had the haunted look of a man who expects to be humiliated and hurt. All John wanted to do was to take Harold into his arms and hug him as tightly as he could, until he realized how wrong he was about this. But he knew that was probably not going to work. Words were the way to convince Harold. So he racked his brain to come up with the right ones.  
“Harold,” he said gently, “I am here because I want you. You, and nobody else. I fell in love with you exactly as you are. I don’t know you any other way. I don’t want anything else, I want this” – he put his hand on Harold’s chest – “all of it. Listen, I thought I had a chance to be with the kindest, cleverest, funniest and just most amazing man I’ve ever met – and I’m supposed to turn my back on him because he sucks at the 50 yard dash?”  
Harold almost smiled at that, but he shook his head.   
“There’s more to it than that.”  
“I know. I’m not trying to trivialize your experience – I don’t know what happened to you, but I know that these were life-changing injuries, that they cause you a lot of pain and make your life more difficult than it should be. I’m not trying to minimize that. But they don’t take anything away from you as a person. They don’t define you. They don’t make you who you are. Yes, they are a part of you now, but they’re not what I see when I look at you. There are so many facets that make up the person that is you, and I love every single one of them.”  
Harold still wouldn’t look at him. After a long pause, he spoke again:  
“That’s not the only thing, though. I know where all this is leading, but I don’t…I haven’t…I never…”  
He broke off, his face having slowly turned pink.  
John took a moment to realize what he was saying.   
“Harold, are you trying to tell me that you are still a virgin?”  
Harold nodded, and blushed even deeper.  
“And you wanted me to be the one? Oh Harold!”  
He tried to kiss him, but Harold turned away.  
“Yes, I did want you to be the one, but I’ve come to the conclusion that this was all a bad idea, and that I should have abandoned it much earlier. You see, I…this isn’t about sex for me. What I want is a real relationship, which is all about giving and taking in equal measures. Yes, I wanted something from you, but I should have seen that there is nothing I could give you in return.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“John, look at me. I’m much older than you, I’m crippled and half blind, I know myself to be unattractive, and I’m a boring computer geek with no social skills. What could I possibly have that you might want? And if you did this out of pity or to add a notch to your bedpost…I couldn’t bear it.”  
When he finally looked at John again, there were tears in his eyes.  
John almost despaired. Hadn’t they just been through all that? What else could he possibly say that would convince Harold of his intentions?  
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? But there is a flaw in your calculation.”  
“Oh yes? And what is that?”  
“You have presumed that you know what I would want from you. But you got it wrong. This isn’t about sex for me either. I’m not here because I want to have sex with someone and you’re the only one available. I fell in love with you first, and everything else came later. What I want, Harold, is to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be close to you, to hold you, to touch you, never to be parted from you. I want to make you feel good, because that makes me feel good. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you. I want to do all the little boring everyday things with you. I want our lives to become one. What I want, Harold, is your love. Now it’s up to you: is that something you can give me?”  
He paused and looked at Harold. Had his words had any effect on him? It was hard to read Harold’s expression – it seemed to be part hopeful, part doubtful. But John had exhausted his store of words. It was time for more desperate measures.  
“OK,” he announced, “that was my attempt to make my feelings clear using your way. I don’t know if it worked. So I’ll now try to convince you my way.” And with that he bent down and pressed his mouth onto Harold’s in a passionate kiss. He could feel his resistance at first, but soon it seemed to melt away, and the lips underneath his became relaxed and opened slightly. He didn’t let up until they were both gasping for breath. He broke contact and looked down at Harold.  
Harold was smiling. “I think you may have just about convinced me,” he said. “Perhaps you could do that again, just to make sure?”  
John’s heart gave a little jump in his chest. He grabbed Harold by the shoulders and kissed him even more passionately than before. Then he continued to kiss him on his chin, all the way down his neck and his chest, before he put his head on Harold’s pillow with a contented sigh. Harold laughed softly and took John’s hand.   
“I’m sorry I’ve been so hung up about this,” he said, “but all of this…it doesn’t come easy to me, you know. I told you, I have no experience. Frankly, I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s exhilarating and frightening at the same time. But after my accident…I just never thought it would be possible at all. And yet, here you are.”  
“Yes, here I am. And here I’m staying.” He squeezed Harold’s hand and moved his head slightly to kiss him on the shoulder.  
“Do you know what the first thing was that I noticed about you?”  
“I can imagine,” Harold replied, some of the old resignation creeping into his voice.  
“Your face. Your eyes. When I was lying in your doorway, I was convinced I was going to die. And I didn’t care. And I knew that there was nobody else who would have cared either. It wouldn’t have made any difference to anyone. And then suddenly you were there, and you knelt down and looked at me, and then I saw it in your eyes: you cared. You didn’t want me to die, you wanted me to live. It did make a difference to you. And that gave me the hope I needed to actually try not to die. I thought, if there still is one person in the world who cares, then maybe it is worth it. And that’s why I’m alive today. You saved me, Harold.”  
Harold lay silent for a while. Then he said:   
“Did I really?”  
“Yes.”  
“I’m glad I did, then.”  
John smiled and gave Harold’s hand another squeeze. Then he moved his arm to embrace Harold fully, and so, snuggled against each other, they slowly fell asleep.


	6. Lost

Outwardly, John’s and Harold’s life did not change. They continued to spend their days working to help people in various ways. They saved a young man from having his house burnt down by a vengeful ex-boyfriend. They helped a teenage girl who was almost driven to suicide by the bullying she was subjected to at school and on social media. They stopped a gang of kids who attacked homeless people just for the thrill of it.   
But privately, both of them were happier than they had ever been in their lives. They revelled in their new-found closeness and soon settled into a cozy routine that made their life look like that of an old married couple, as John jokingly pointed out more than once.  
“And why not?” was Harold’s reply.  
“Indeed,” said John, “it’s what I’ve always dreamed of.” And that was not a joke.  
John was the better cook of the two, so whenever they were not eating out or having takeout, he took responsibility for their meals. Breakfast, however, was Harold’s domain. It wasn’t always the same either. Some mornings he went all healthy with granola, yoghurt and fresh fruit. Other times he went traditional, with pancakes, bacon and maple syrup. Harold’s pancakes were the smallest and most evenly shaped John had ever seen. It was like having a heap of gold doubloons on your plate. And when he had enough time, he made the best eggs benedict John had ever eaten.  
In the evening they had a routine as well. As soon as they had decided that they were definitely a couple, John had given up sleeping in his own bedroom. Harold’s bed was big enough for two, and they didn’t want to spend any more time apart than was unavoidable. At bedtime, John went into the bathroom first, because Harold tended to spend twice as long in there. Not because he was vain, but because, like everything else in Harold’s life, his grooming routine had to be performed just so. John made himself comfortable in the bed and waited for Harold to join him. When he finally emerged, still damp about the sideburns and smelling sweetly of sandalwood and mint, he lowered himself cautiously onto the bed, tidied his slippers away and began a whole other routine of carefully arranging his pillows, his limbs and the comforter. John waited until he finally lay back with a contented sigh, and then he pounced. He squeezed Harold in his arms and showered him with little kisses while Harold playfully fought him off, until they were caught in a tangle of comforters and pillows, and Harold had to start his routine all over again. Eventually, they were lying next to each other, with John’s body curled round Harold’s from behind.   
From the point at which they had decided that they wanted to be a couple, it had taken them months to actually have sex. For a long time fear and desire fought within Harold, until finally desire won out. They both enjoyed it, but it was not their favourite thing to do. What they cherished most about their relationship was the closeness, the intimacy, and the hundred little ways in which they showed their love for each other. For John, the best thing was that he didn’t have to spend his life alone. He craved the company of someone close, someone he could share his life with. Before Harold, he thought he would never be able to have that. But now there was someone he could look after, someone to protect and love, someone who was always there for him and loved him back. And that made him deliriously happy.   
Harold was more of a loner by nature, but he, too, had secretly wished for someone in his life who would be more than a casual friend. It had never happened for him, and at his age he was certain that it never would, particularly not after his accident. But then John had come into his life, and suddenly there was someone who really loved him, who desired him, and who let himself be loved in return. It seemed nothing short of a miracle, and he hoped fervently that it would last until the end of his life.  
Harold was very upset, therefore, when John came home one day with disquieting news. It did nothing to calm Harold down that John seemed to be reluctant to tell him what had happened. Eventually he revealed that he had bumped into a friend from his Agency days, a friend who had recognised him and couldn’t be avoided.  
“He told me they want me back,” John revealed. “He says that ‘the slate’s wiped clean’ – those were his words, and if I wanted to resume my old job they would let me.”  
Harold could feel his whole world turned upside down.  
“And do you trust him?” he asked. “Do you want to go back?”  
“No, I don’t think so. But I think it would be worth to find out what the situation is. If they’ve really changed their minds about me, it would make things easier in this life as well. I would no longer be a wanted man. My friend tells me that there have been changes – the people who hunted me have gone. And yes, I trust this friend.”  
“So what do you want to do?”  
“My friend is going to set up a meeting in DC. I think it will be safe to go – it will be on neutral territory of sorts. It just would be good to know where I stand. Don’t you agree?”  
Harold murmured something indistinct. He did agree with John, but he was too worried that the whole thing might be a trap.  
John, who could guess what Harold was thinking, smiled.  
“You’re paranoid, you know that?”  
But Harold didn’t smile.  
“Only the paranoid survive,” he said.   
John just took him in his arms.   
Of course, Harold had to agree that John should do what he thought best. And so it was that John left a few days later for Washington.   
“Don’t worry so much, Harold,” John told him when they kissed goodbye, “nothing will happen to me. I’ll be back very soon?”  
“But when?” Harold urged. “Promise me you will come back. Promise me!”   
Harold was close to tears in his panic, and John kissed him again.  
“Do you know what day it is in exactly a week’s time?”  
Harold shook his head.  
“It’s the day that you found me. It’s our anniversary, Harold! I promise you, I will be back on that day, and you’d better have a really nice dinner ready!”  
Harold still clung to John and didn’t want to let go.  
“You swear?”  
“Yes, Harold, I swear.”  
Finally released, John took his bag, gave Bear a pat on the head, waved to Harold and was gone.  
How Harold got through the week he never knew. Because of all the secrecy surrounding John’s situation, they couldn’t contact each other. John had warned him that the people he would meet would demand that his phone be switched off, but it was very hard for Harold to be so cut off from his partner.  
Finally the day of John’s return came, and Harold’s excitement mounted. He busied himself with the preparations for the dinner John had asked for. He didn’t trust his cooking skills to create the main course himself, so he had ordered it in from the best steakhouse he knew, but he had made a salad and tiramisu for dessert. He had set the table with white linen napkins, his best china and polished silverware. He had decorated it with flowers and candles. And now he waited.  
And waited.  
And John didn’t come. Dinnertime came and went, and at first Harold thought that he had just been delayed. But as it got later and later, and John still didn’t appear, panic was slowly taking over. What had happened to John? What had they done to him? Had they locked him up after all? He tried John’s phone, but it was disconnected. Where was he?  
Harold could feel himself spiralling ever closer to a panic attack, but just before he was tipped over the edge, another little voice reared up at the back of his mind.  
What if John had simply left him? What if he had taken the opportunity to extricate himself from a relationship he didn’t want anymore? Had he met someone else and wanted to be free of Harold? You can’t blame him, the little voice told him. Look at you. How could you think John would be attracted to you? You’re unlovable. Of course he wanted to get out.  
So now there were two emotions chasing each other round Harold’s head, and he didn’t know which was worse: the thought that something terrible had happened to John, or the possibility that John had dumped him for someone better.  
He sat at the table, as dusk grew into darkness, unable to move or act in anyway. Until Bear came to him and begged to be let out.  
Finally Harold was able to shake off his lethargy and concentrate on reality, which at that moment meant Bear. The dog had simple needs, and it was his responsibility to look after him. That thought enabled him to get up, put on his shoes, coat, scarf and hat, and take Bear to the park for his evening walk. It was now completely dark, and the paths were only dimly lit. Harold followed his usual route without thinking. His mind has resumed the chase of possible explanations of why John had failed to return. Suddenly Bear stopped, growling, with his tail between his legs and his fur bristling. Harold looked up.   
“What is it, Bear?”  
He looked in the same direction, but couldn’t see anything. But then suddenly, in the shadow of a tall bush, there was John.  
Harold shouted his name and wanted to rush to him, but John stopped him with a gesture.  
“No, Harold, stay where you are.”  
“John! What do you mean? What’s happened?”  
John sighed.   
“I’m sorry Harold, I don’t have much time. I don’t know how to explain this, but, you see, I’m not really here. I’m only here in spirit, in a way. And I can’t stay long.”  
“What do you mean? Of course you are here, I can see you! I…”  
But Harold saw that there was indeed something strange about John. He couldn’t see him clearly because he was standing in the shadows. But it wasn’t just that. John was somehow…insubstantial. For a moment it seemed as if Harold could see right through him. He felt like being plunged into icy water as the meaning of what John was saying hit him. It couldn’t be! It was impossible. But somehow he knew it was true.  
“You’re dead,” he whispered.  
“Yes. I’m so sorry, Harold. My friend betrayed me. They caught me before I could even leave.”  
“You’ve been here in New York the whole time?”  
“Yes. They took me to some secret prison, I don’t know where. I wondered why they didn’t kill me right away. But they wanted information about you. They wanted to know how I had survived and who had helped me and how much you knew about me. But of course I couldn’t give you up. They tried the usual techniques – no food, no sleep – to soften me up. And all the time I knew you were waiting for me. That was the worst. And when I realised that I would never get out, I knew there was only one way I could return to you.”  
He shivered and became almost translucent for a moment. Harold could only look on in horror as he solidified again and continued:  
“I had to get to you somehow, you see. I had made a promise, and I knew what you would think if I broke that promise. The thought that you could believe that my love had faded, that you were not worthy, that I had left you for someone else – that was unberable. I had to come to you, to tell you that I have never loved anyone like I love you. I thought of you every minute that we were apart. There is no one better in the whole world for me, Harold, and I had to tell you that. But since a physical escape was impossible, there was only one way to come to you. I knew they wanted to keep me alive to extract more information, but I figured if I attacked the guards when they opened the door, they would forget their orders and kill me. And so it proved. It freed me, so I could come to you and tell you what happened.”  
He shivered again.  
“I’m out of time, Harold. I must go.”  
“John! No!”  
A thousand thoughts were racing through Harold’s mind. He grasped at one of them, whether on purpose or at random he didn’t know.  
“The man who imprisoned you – what’s his name?”  
“Mark Snow. He’s the one who hunted me when I first came to you. And now he’s caught up with me. Goodbye, Harold, I can’t stay any longer. Thank you for saving my life, for giving me everything. I love you. Goodbye…”  
“No!” Harold shouted. “John! Don’t go! I love you!”  
But he could only watch as the image of John faded away to nothing, and there was only shadow left. Bear suddenly howled and pressed against Harold’s legs. Harold still couldn’t quite believe what he had seen, but he knew that John was gone forever. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out of him, leaving a hollow space behind, which grew and grew and threatened to swallow him up. Overwhelmed by his emotions he fell to his knees, took his glasses off, buried his face in Bear’s coat and wept.  
When all his tears were spent, he slowly got to his feet again, put his glasses back on and prepared to take Bear home. There was no feeling left inside him. He was an automaton on autopilot, capable of directing his steps down the path, of holding on to Bear’s lead, but any emotion was drained out of him. He was no longer fully human.   
Suddenly Bear stopped again, cocked his ears and whined. Harold stopped, too, and listened. A faint breeze had sprung up, rustling the leaves of the hazelnut tree next to him. Strangely, though, everything else was motionless. He stood and stared.  
“John?” he said quietly.   
“Are you there?”  
Maybe it was just another gust of wind in the leaves. But Harold thought he heard a faint whisper in his ear:  
“Always, Harold. Always.”


	7. Epilogue

It has become something of a trope in popular culture that the various law enforcement agencies are more likely to be at each others’ throats than working together. So it was in an almost unprecedented spirit of co-operation that NSA Agent Petrel reached out to the director of the CIA’s New York office to warn him that one of his operatives had been compromised. The glimpse of information he provided was convincing enough for the director to respond. It had come to light in the course of a completely different investigation, that the CIA’s Mark Snow was dealing secretly with China, and had been doing so for some time. Since the NSA had no interest in pursuing this particular angle, they were content to pass the information on and let the CIA deal with the matter in-house. Of course, Agent Petrel conceded, there was no good reason to trust someone at the other end of an untraceable phoneline or a dead-end e-mail address. So he said he would agree to hand the evidence over in person. If the director cared to name a neutral spot for a meeting – a diner or a coffee-shop would appear suitable – he would be willing to meet him. Yes, of course he fully expected the director to bring a security detail with him. That would be no obstacle. He would give the director time to think about it. The e-mail address he had given would be good for another couple days. Not at all. Glad to be of service.  
Well, thought the director. Of course there was no reason to take anything this mysterious agent said at face value. But he did some digging (or rather, he detailed someone else to do the digging) and had confirmed that at least Agent Petrel was who he said he was. He couldn’t be sure, but he could even guess during which investigation this information about Mark Snow had come to light. Enough to make a meeting with Petrel worthwhile. The director made an appointment to meet the next day in a coffee shop in uptown Manhattan.  
On arrival he positioned his two bodyguards in convenient spots and entered the coffee shop. Of course he didn’t know what Petrel looked like, but secret agents were rarely as inconspicuous as they imagined themselves to be. Besides, as Petrel pointed out, as the director he was somewhat in the public eye, and therefore he, Petrel, would recognise him and give him a sign. The director walked the length of the coffee shop, keeping an eye out. The young man in motorcycle leathers – no. An older man, rather fat, in a loud sports jacket - maybe, but probably not. It wasn’t until he walked through a second time that he spotted the minute nod given by a man he hadn’t even noticed the first time. He sat down opposite him and tried to assess the man. Small, middle-aged, in a navy suit and tie, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, with a raincoat on the bench next to him. He had been staring tiredly into his coffee. An overworked accountant, that was the impression he gave, or a harrassed paralegal, trying to snatch a brief respite from the daily grind. Impressive, the director thought. Nobody would peg this guy as an agent in a million years. Petrel gave him a small smile.   
“Care to join me?” he asked, pointing at his cup.   
The director wasn’t really keen on consuming anything, but it would be better to keep up the appearance of two guys just having a casual meeting. He nodded, and Petrel signalled the waitress.  
They drank half a cup each in silence before Petrel reached into the pocket of his raincoat and slid a flashdrive across the table.   
“Everything you need is on there,” he said. “And if you want to get someone to check the code, they will see the embedded markers which confirm the files as genuine. You won’t be able to contact me again after today, of course.”  
“Of course,” the director confirmed. He took the flashdrive and slid it into his pocket. He was eager to get away, but he had to play the charade to its end, so he tried to match Petrel’s relaxed demeanor and slowly sipped his coffee.   
When his cup was empty, he got up, nodded to Petrel and made his way to the exit. If the NSA Agent was going to try something underhand, now would be the moment. But when he glanced back, all he saw was Petrel asking the waitress for more coffee.  
He actually followed Petrel’s suggestion and had the files checked for their authenticity by his IT experts. When they came back to him, he got his first chance to see for himself what the problem was. It was as bad as Petrel had hinted. The files proved without doubt that Mark Snow had been compromised by the Chinese years ago and had been feeding them information ever since. The director sighed. There was only one solution: Snow had to be retired with immediate effect. He pressed the button on the intercom to speak to his secretary.  
“Yes, sir?”  
He said:  
“Get me Kara Stanton.”  
***  
Three weeks later the naked body of a man was washed up on Rockaway beach. His hands had been removed, and his face has been obliterated by the activity of fish and crabs. The authorities made a cursory attempt at identification, but there was really nothing to go on. They waited in vain for someone to come forward and claim the body. After six months they sent it to be buried at Potter’s Field with dozens of others.  
The men had come over on the boat in the early hours of the morning, and they had been hard at work since. One of them dropped his shovel for a moment and groaned as he stretched and arched his back. He breathed deeply in and out, and just as he was about to pick up his shovel again, he though he saw someone standing on the distant treeline, watching them. He squinted. Yes, he had not been mistaken: it was a man in a dark suit, leaning on a cane, with a large dog by his side.   
He tapped his companion on the shoulder.  
“Hey, do you see that?”  
“What?” the other man said irritably.  
“Someone standing there.”  
“So what?”  
“He doesn’t look like he belongs here. It’s usually just us. Who do you think it is?”  
“How should I know?” his companion said and turned away.  
The first man shrugged and finally picked up his shovel, too. When he looked again a few minutes later, the man had disappeared.


End file.
